


the road not taken looks real good now

by venetum



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: (but not about bellarke), Airports, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Christmas, Eventual HEA, Exes to Lovers, F/M, POV Clarke Griffin, Snow, Winter, accidental encounters, i blame taylor swift for this one, kind of a christmas fic, mentions of past infidelity, this fic isn't kind to raven or echo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venetum/pseuds/venetum
Summary: In which Clarke runs into her ex, Bellamy Blake, at Heathrow Airport during a layover on the day before Christmas Eve, only to learn that she's stuck at the airport with him until the snowstorm lets up.or: there’s something incredibly magical about airports around Christmas.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 137
Collections: bellarkescord advent calendar





	the road not taken looks real good now

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first Christmas fic of the season, a super angsty exes-to-lovers fic I wrote for The Bellarkes discord server Advent Calendar event! 
> 
> I listened to Illicit Affairs and Tis The Damn Season by Taylor Swift a lot while writing this so uh, be warned, I guess?
> 
> Enjoy!!

The last place Clarke Griffin ever expected to run into Bellamy Blake was Heathrow Airport, especially on the day before Christmas Eve.

It wasn’t surprising, exactly, that the universe had decided to thrust him into Clarke’s path that day, given the absolutely disastrous time she’d been having, but that hadn’t stopped her from cursing every higher power she knew of when she caught a glimpse of that familiar head curls amidst the throngs of travelers that were milling about at the airport.

It had all started the morning before, when Clarke’s phone had decided to turn her numerous alarms off of its own accord, causing her to oversleep and wake up with only ten minutes to spare before she had to drive to the airport. She’d then had to spend the few minutes she had running around her house in a desperate attempt to make herself presentable, thankful, for once, that Abby had instilled the need to be packed ahead of time in her from a very young age before chasing her dog, Picasso, down to try to get the leash attached to her collar.

She’d finally made it to LAX only about fifteen minutes late, Picasso in the safe custody of her colleague, Niylah, from the gallery. When she’d finally gotten to the front of the massive queue of people waiting to check-in, she’d learned that there had been some sort of mix-up with the seat she’d booked for herself, in that her choice had never actually been registered on the website, leaving her with one of the least desirable seats on the plane.

She had spent the ten-and-a-half hour flight squished between two people right next to the toilets under a near-constant cloud of unpleasant odors and sounds as people traipsed back and forth from their seats to relieve themselves, promising herself that she would _never_ try to fly internationally during the peak holiday season again. Naturally, she’d spent the ten hours desperately waiting for her layover in London, looking forward to perusing the Duty-Free stores and maybe catching up on her book.

But landing in London hadn’t made her luck any better. In fact, she’d only just plopped her stuff down onto a pair of empty seats—the first she’d seen in her fifteen minutes wandering around the Duty-Free section of the airport—when he caught her eye.

Immediately lowering herself into her seat and pulling her scarf up higher around her neck to conceal part of her face, Clarke tried her best to think logically. There was no way that had actually been Bellamy, right? Of all the places Clarke might have expected to run into him at this time of year, halfway across the world in the middle of a crowded airport certainly hadn’t been one of them. No, Bellamy would almost certainly be spending Christmas back at home with his family, never one to abandon Octavia or Ec—his _wife_ , Clarke corrected bitterly—over the holidays. The man she’d seen had probably just been some random stranger who just happened to look exactly like the man she’d once loved and left behind.

Her heart twinged slightly at the thought, causing her to shake her head vigorously as she slid further down into her seat.

 _Get yourself together, Griffin_ , she scolded herself, reaching over to pull her _Kindle_ out of her bag, desperately in need of a distraction, i _t’s been three years since you saw him last, it’s high time you moved on._

The next time she thought she saw him was nearly an hour later when she’d gathered her things to move over to one of the coffee shops, her craving for caffeine having grown impossible to ignore. By then she’d almost completely convinced herself that her eyes had deceived her earlier, the anxiety brought forth by the barrage of emotions that had threatened to overwhelm her mostly quelled. She’d been leaning lightly against the handle of her carry-on when she heard him order his drink, the proximity of his voice indicating he was probably only a couple spots ahead of her in the line.

The low, gravelly tone of his voice sent shivers scuttling down her spine, his voice one she could recognize anywhere.

“Crap, crap, crap,” she muttered under her breath, ducking her head low and training her eyes onto her phone screen as she waited for him to finish ordering.

It had been plausible that the person she caught a glimpse of earlier had just been an uncanny lookalike, but Bellamy’s voice was just too distinct to be denied.

All she could do now was hope against hope that he wouldn’t see her. The last thing she wanted was to have him feel as though he was obligated to sit down and catch up with her, especially when the likelihood that he was travelling with _her_ was high.

She raised her head slightly once the line moved forward, gaze scanning the crowded seating area until it landed on him, waiting patiently for his order by the counter, uncomfortably close to where Clarke would be ordering in only a few, short moments.

She stifled a sigh, pulling up the list of establishments within this terminal of the airport on her phone to find another coffee shop close by. The line inched forward once more, the person in front of Clarke now rattling off their order to the exhausted-looking barista, and Clarke realized that she’d have to spend another twenty minutes waiting in line at any of the other coffee shops in the building, the airport packed full of people trying to make it to their families in time for Christmas day.

She grit her teeth, figuring that she might as well place her order and leave the rest up to fate. The odds of him recognizing her after three years were pretty slim. She was almost certain that their tryst had held a higher significance for her than it had for him, anyway.

When she finally reached the head of the line, she ordered her coffee and a muffin as quickly and quietly as possible, a simple tap of her card completing the transaction in seconds. She murmured a quick “thank you” to the barista before moving over to wait at the other end of the counter, relief flooding her system when she realized Bellamy had already picked up his order and left.

She drummed her fingers against the counter idly as she waited, head bobbing along to the rhythm of the Christmas music filtering through the speakers, Mariah Carey’s voice crooning softly under the chatter of the people scattered across the seating area. 

She’d only just received her order from the barista, paper bag and to-go cup clutched tightly in one hand as she tried to maneuver her carry-on out of the way of the people behind her and find a place to sit down when she heard him say her name.

“Clarke? Clarke Griffin?”

She froze, wondering if she could pretend as though she simply hadn't heard him.

“Clarke!” He called once more, his voice growing closer as he made his way over to her.

Eyes burning with tears that threatened to spill at any moment, she squeezed them tightly shut, willing her brain to prevent the onslaught of memories that came about as a result of hearing _him_ say her name.

_“Clarke,” he’d huff in frustration whenever they were at odds, “no.”_

_“Clarke,” he’d whispered reverently the first time they’d kissed. “Are you sure?”_

_“Clarke,” he’d murmured into her hair the first time they slept together, “I think I love you.”_

_“I’ll be right back, Clarke,” he’d told her_ that _night, “just gotta go grab your gift.”_

_“Clarke!” He’d called, banging at her door later that same night. “Are you okay? Why aren't you answering your phone?”_

_Clarke, he’d written in an email she’d refused to open for months after she’d blocked him everywhere else. I miss you._

She blinked rapidly, shaking herself out of her memories, and took a deep breath. It was too late to simply walk away and pretend to not have heard him, especially given the way she’d frozen up when he called her name. She straightened, jutting out her chin and mustering up every ounce of faux-confidence she could before she turned to face him.

The first thought that crossed her mind when she saw him was that this man had no right to be as beautiful as he was. He’d filled out since Clarke last saw him, blue Henley stretched deliciously across his torso under a black pea coat. His hair was still the raven mess of curls she’d loved so much, peeking out from under the blue beanie she remembered knitting for him back in college. A pair of black, horn-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, just barely obscuring the eyes she remembered wanting to stare into for hours on end.

“Bellamy,” she breathed, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Hi.”

He flashed her a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, taking a step closer to her.

“I thought that was you! How have you been?”

“Good, yeah. Busy, but you know how it is,” Clarke waved her hand around vaguely, scrambling to wrap her mind around the fact that she was actually _talking_ to Bellamy Blake again. It caught her off guard, how polite and _normal_ he was behaving.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he nodded, gaze drifting to the coffee clutched in her hand. “Do you want to maybe sit down and catch up? I snagged a table over there.”

He gestured towards one of the corners of the seating area.

“Sure, yeah.” Clarke agreed, not really seeing any way out of the situation at hand.

 _At least my layover is almost over_ , she thought, following Bellamy back to the table. _And then we can go back to being strangers again._

An awkward silence descended upon the pair once they were both comfortably seated at the little, round table.

“So, um, what are you doing here?” Clarke asked him, eyes searching for any clue that he was there with another person.

“I’m actually on my way to Italy for the break,” Bellamy explained, setting his coffee cup down on the table. “I’ve finally been approved to examine this set of ancient Roman armor that was unearthed a couple of years ago. I’m heading over to Rome to meet with the archaeologist who was in charge of the dig site.”

“That’s awesome, Bell,” Clarke smiled, heat rushing to her cheeks at the accidental use of his old nickname. They definitely _weren’t_ on nickname terms anymore.

An unfamiliar emotion flashed across Bellamy’s face for a moment before it returned to the passive, polite mask it had resembled earlier.

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’m headed to Spain to visit my mother and Marcus for the holidays. I haven’t been able to get out there as much as she would’ve liked since they moved. I’m essentially being strong-armed into visiting but,” Clarke laughed, shrugging, “it’ll be nice to see them again.”

Bellamy nodded, “Of course. Plus a trip to Europe never really hurts, does it?”

“No, no it doesn’t,” Clarke agreed.

The two took almost simultaneous drinks out of their coffee cups, and Clarke wished more than anything that she’d simply left this place when she heard his voice.

She much preferred preserving her memories of the Bellamy she once knew, the one who was her best friend, the one who claimed he’d loved her over this stranger she sat across from.

“How’s Octavia doing?” Clarke finally asked him.

Bellamy grinned, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his younger sister.

“She’s doing great. Lincoln finally asked her to marry him a couple of months ago, so she’s neck-deep in wedding planning at the moment. It's going to be a Spring wedding.”

Clarke smiled, genuinely happy for O. Bellamy’s sister had once been one of Clarke’s closest friends, and her relationship with Lincoln was something out of the movies. It stung, of course, that Clarke hadn’t even received an invite to the wedding, but Octavia had never been one to forgive easily.

“Wow, you’ll have to congratulate her for me! I’m surprised she let you skip spending the holidays with her, though.”

“Oh, there were definitely death threats involved when she found out I was leaving this year, too.” Bellamy grimaced. “But I guess Christmas isn’t really something I do, anymore.”

Clarke resisted the urge to furrow her eyebrows at that comment. Since when did Bellamy Blake, who practically lived and breathed holiday spirit during that time of year, simply not “do” Christmas?

Bellamy had always been the one in their group of friends to make the biggest deal out of Christmas, a habit that stemmed from having to make the most of what little time off his mother used to get during the holiday, which hadn't really gone away once she'd passed. He'd gone all out every year Clarke had known him, with his Christmas decorations up the second Thanksgiving had passed, the holiday movies and music on almost-constant rotation in the Blake household, and sugar cookies made from scratch which were so delicious, Clarke could've sworn she ate at least two batches to herself each year. Baking for the holidays with Bellamy had always been Clarke's favorite part of every year, her artistic skill deeming her the only person worthy of icing the cookies with Bellamy. The knowledge that Bellamy had given up on the holiday, while depressing, was also strangely gratifying. Clarke could not bear the thought of him completing their holiday traditions with _her_ instead.

Clarke had, admittedly, lost her love for this particular holiday following that night three years ago, but she couldn’t imagine Bellamy losing his love for it over someone as insignificant as herself.

“How is, uh,” he paused, clearing his throat slightly. “How’s the new job?”

“Not exactly new anymore, I suppose, but I don’t hate it,” Clarke smiled slightly. “LA’s definitely super different from Boston, which took some getting used to, but the gallery’s amazing.”

“I’m sure the art scene’s way more exciting than Boston too.”

Clarke laughed. “Exciting is one way to put it. I mean just the other day we did this showcase…”

She proceeded to recount the story of the gallery’s latest client, a rather eccentric woman named Nia with a penchant for creating graphic depictions of torture, involving a variety of animals more often than not. Bellamy “ooh”ed and grimaced at exactly the right moments, reminding her of exactly why she’d spent so much time in the past couple of years missing this man. There was so much history between the two of them, much of it painful, but it was nice, in a way, to be spending some time with him simply pretending everything was normal.

Clarke shuddered lightly, ending her story. “That woman gives me the creeps, honestly, but the critics _love_ her.”

“Artists,” Bellamy rolled his eyes playfully.

“As if you historians are any better,” Clarke rolled her eyes right back, laughing.

Clarke’s watch chimed, reminding her that her flight would start boarding soon.

“Well,” she said, rising from her seat at the table, “this was fun. I’m really glad I ran into you.”

The admission seemed to catch Bellamy off guard, who only responded after a brief pause.

“I’m glad I ran into you, too. I’ve missed you, Princess.”

The old nickname stirred up feelings inside of Clarke she’d tried so hard to keep buried through the course of their brief meeting, the memory of his touch ghosting across her skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

She was about to respond when her watch beeped once more, signaling an incoming email from her flight service. Clarke dug her phone out of her pocket, furrowing her eyebrows as she read over the message. She was vaguely aware that Bellamy had pulled out his phone too, and several other people’s phones had let out similar notification sounds around them.

Bellamy drew her attention back to him, asking, “Has your flight also been—”

“Cancelled?” Clarke finished for him. “Yep. Or rather, I guess, postponed until further notice? Apparently, there’s some kind of snowstorm in the area that has all the flights grounded until further notice.”

“Well,” Bellamy sighed, “you might as well sit back down. It looks like we’re going to be here a while.”

Clarke stifled a sigh and sat back down. Sure, this half-hour encounter with Bellamy had been pleasant, but she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to survive spending more time with him in such close proximity.

* * *

Their first order of business upon realizing that they were stuck, pretty much indefinitely, at the airport was to secure themselves a couple of seats close to a power outlet. When their cursory _Google_ search had turned up no hotel vacancies close to the airport (Christmas in London, Clarke supposed, explained that mystery away), they had resorted to calling their respective airlines and demanding to be told when they estimated flights could take off again.

"We aren't sure," had been the answer they received, both airlines estimating an at least twenty-four hour delay.

So, off they went, coffee and muffins all but abandoned in favor of hunting down the optimal seating choice to wait out their now-extended layover. They were on their second loop of the numerous seating areas when they found a spot, an entire row of seats having only just been vacated by a family of four. Bellamy nudged Clarke, practically sprinting to place his satchel on one of the seats, carry-on wheels rattling as Clarke rushed to keep up with him.

"Made it!" He exclaimed, smirking victoriously when a couple of the people who had also been making beelines for the seats shot them dirty looks.

"These are perfect," Clarke acknowledged, taking in the white Christmas tree that stood in front of them, its lights emitting a sort of ethereal glow. She resisted the urge to stare outright at Bellamy's face, the way that Christmas lights illuminated his face causing his freckles to resemble stars.

Clarke hadn't felt particularly festive at all these last few Christmases but this year, in particular, had probably been the worst of them all, barring the one during which she'd moved, of course. Something about the idea of traveling alone, coupled with the sheer monotony of her life, had left her feeling sad and unfulfilled, and in desperate need of a break. But if there was anyone who had been able to ignite the festive spirit in her, it was Bellamy Blake. Or at least, it had been.

She tore her gaze from his face with a sigh, fingers itching to sketch him.

"You good, Princess?" Bellamy asked, the nickname slipping casually back into his vocabulary as though the weight of its history wasn't threatening to pulverize Clarke's heart.

"Just frustrated," she admitted. "This isn't exactly how I imagined this time of year would be going."

He nodded, laughing somewhat bitterly.

"I bet. I'm sure there's plenty of other people you'd rather be stranded in an airport with."

She frowned, turning fully in her seat so that she was facing him.

"Or, you know, maybe I wouldn't want to be stuck in an airport at all." Clarke pointed out. "Also, we both know you'd be one of the only people I could actually handle being stuck with for extended periods of time."

He huffed, "Oh, really? Are none of your fancy Californian artist friends good enough for you?"

"Really, Bellamy?" Clarke resisted the urge to smack him. He was acting like such a child. "Are we really doing this now?"

He shrugged, "You tell me. You're the one who left."

"Well, I guess the nice-guy act's over now, huh?"

"I don't see how you expect us to spend the entire day stuck here and not address the elephant in the room, Clarke."

"Who said we have to spend this time together at all?" Clarke pointed out, in no hurry to hear about how perfect his life had been with _her_ these past few years.

Bellamy shrugged, hurt flashing across his features for but a moment before they returned to an impenetrable blankness.

"Feel free to leave at any moment. It's what you do best, anyway."

The words bit into Clarke like a thousand shards of glass, a brutal reminder of the decision she'd had to make all those years ago. Her heart ached, wishing once more that she could have her Bellamy back, not this smug asshole who seemed so determined to hate her now that the niceties were out of the way.

"Fuck you, Bellamy. You know _exactly_ why I left." She glared, only mildly aware that they were probably making a scene, and stood him, needing to get away from him. "Oh, and you can tell Echo I say hello."

With that she stomped off, backpack in hand, heading straight for the nearest restroom.

She cursed the weather gods as she went, squeezing past throngs of people to join the queue for the women's restroom. How bad did her luck have to be for the worst snowstorm to ever hit the greater London area—a region where it rarely snowed more than a couple of inches, at least according to the internet—to trap her in an airport with her ex—well, something?

He'd never actually been her ex-boyfriend. What exactly was the term, she wondered, for the man who had once been her very best friend, the best friend whom she'd harbored feelings for for years, who had finally given her the time of day only when he was getting bored of his girlfriend? She supposed the term 'ex-lover' fit their situation pretty well, although it was the kind of term she'd always found to be rather embarrassing, especially when spoken out loud.

She sighed, relieved when the line moved forward enough for her to at least enter the restroom. She pushed her way past the queue to the stalls to access one of the sinks on the far side of the room, turning it on and splashing some water on her face. She took a moment to relish in the cool freshness of the water, the day-old clothes and general grossness of the plane ride starting to wear on her.

Grabbing a wad of tissue paper to pat her face dry, she stared at the reflection of her face in the mirror. Her hair was much shorter than it had been three years ago, most of the length lobbed off in a rather cliche attempt to leave her past behind once she'd moved to LA, but the rest of her didn't look much different from back then, back when she'd allowed Bellamy to make her the other woman. She'd been so full of hope that he would leave his girlfriend for her like he'd always said he would, so sure that she was enough.

She'd been wrong, of course. So wrapped in the heat of their affair that she'd missed all the warning signs until it was far too late. Until she was in too deep, so far in love with him that she'd missed that he was gearing up to propose to the actual love of his life. A fact Raven had been more than willing to throw in her face when she had found out about the two of them.

She gripped the counter in front of her tightly, taking a deep breath. She'd left Bellamy all those years ago hoping the distance might finally allow her to get over her feelings for him—feelings she was now convinced were so deeply ingrained into her that they might as well have been encoded in her DNA. No, there was no getting over her feelings for him, but perhaps talking things out with him would be what she needed to finally move on, locking away the piece of her heart that would always belong to him in order to make room for another.

Decision made, she tossed the tissues into a nearby trashcan and shouldered her backpack once more, making her way out of the bathroom.

* * *

Finding Bellamy once more turned out to be much easier than she'd originally anticipated, she realized, when she came upon him waiting for her outside the door to the restrooms.

"Hey," he said hesitantly, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. "Can we talk, please?"

Clarke crossed her arms across her chest, not ready to give in quite yet, and shrugged.

"Talk."

He made to move closer to her, taking a step forward before thinking better of it and leaving a sizable amount of distance between them.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, shoving a hand through his now beanie-free hair. "I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier but I'm also sorry about how things went down between us three years ago. Just... come back and sit with me, please," he requested. "Give me a chance to explain myself."

Clarke shifted her gaze to stare at the floor in front of her feet, heart bruised, and mind racing.

Did she really want to hear how much he regretted what they'd had? How much he hated having cheated on his now-wife, how much he wished he could take back what had started off as some of the best months of Clarke's life?

"Fine," she nodded, shortly. "Lead the way."

He handed her her carry-on, which Clarke hadn't even noticed she left behind. Murmuring a small "thank you," she took the handle from him. She followed him down a different path from the one she'd taken, up a flight of stairs and down a path lined with brightly lit shops, their windows twinkling with fairy lights and Christmas ornaments, before stopping by a different set of seats in a more secluded part of the terminal. The row Bellamy had chosen happened to be right next to the glass railing that allowed the balcony-like area to overlook the Christmas tree they'd been sitting by earlier.

"I figured we could use a little privacy," Bellamy explained, dropping his stuff by one of the seats before sitting down.

Clarke simply nodded in acknowledgment, dropping down into the seat next to his.

He took a deep breath, "Before I begin, can you please tell me what you meant when you told me to tell Echo you said hello?"

Clarke blinked, confused as to why that was something he'd decided to fixate upon. Was the answer not obvious?

Biting back her snark, she responded, "I thought that was fairly obvious. Tell _your wife_ I said hello the next time you see her. I assume she isn't traveling with you because she wants to spend Christmas with her family?"

It was Bellamy's turn to look confused, mouth opening and closing a couple of times before he could finally get a word out.

"You... you think I'm married to _Echo_?" He sat back in his seat, incredulous now, and pushed a hand through his hair. "Well, this certainly puts a lot of things into perspective."

He sat in silence for a few moments longer, seemingly lost in thought, while Clarke grew more and more uncomfortable. She was clearly missing something here, but she honestly wasn't sure what. Leaving Bellamy to his thoughts, she allowed her gaze to surreptitiously travel to his left ring finger, only to find it completely bare. She craned her neck slightly to check his right, just in case, and found that it too was devoid of any jewelry.

"You aren't married," she breathed, having to sit back in her seat herself. "But Raven said..."

"Raven?" Bellamy questioned immediately. "What does Raven have to do with any of this?"

"I... Raven told me you were going to ask Echo to marry you," Clarke finally admitted, wondering if she had uprooted her life all those years ago for no reason at all.

 _You were still having an affair with Bellamy behind his girlfriend's back,_ her subconscious pointed out. _Surely that was reason enough._

Bellamy's features rippled, first in shock, before settling upon a calm sort of furious.

"And why, exactly, would Raven think that?" He asked her, tone laced with barely-suppressed anger and surprise.

Clarke thought back to the night she'd gotten the phone call from Raven, the night that had so thoroughly changed the course her life had taken, setting her down a road she wished every day she hadn't taken.

"Well, she called me that night..." Clarke began, recounting the memory of that night to Bellamy, so clearly branded into her brain even after all this time.

_It had been the night before Christmas, and Clarke's townhouse was as cozy as ever. Though initially against the idea of living in one of her step-father's properties, Clarke had never been more grateful for the house than she had been that evening, the crackling of her wood-burning fireplace soothing her as she waited impatiently for Bellamy to come to her. He was currently on his way back from his office at the university, where he claimed he'd left her present to hide it from prying eyes._

_They'd agreed that exchanging gifts early was probably the best idea, given they'd be spending the next morning at Octavia and Lincoln's house with all of their friends and—of course, Clarke thought disdainfully—Echo._

_It was almost sad how used to this Clarke had gotten. To the lying and the stolen glances, the sneaking around which had once left her so thoroughly satisfied. But it had become a little bit harder to let Bellamy go each time they met, each clandestine rendezvous leaving a bitter, empty feeling in the pit of Clarke's stomach as she watched the man she loved leave her in favor of the woman to whom he publicly belonged._

_Her gaze had flickered, as it had every day for the past week or so, over to the letter she had received from Dante Wallace, an esteemed gallery owner with whom Clarke had interviewed earlier this year. She had expected, at most, for him to offer her a lowly position at his gallery in Boston, but the opportunity he had written to her about instead was looking almost impossible to pass up._

_He wanted her in Los Angeles, helping his son to open up his newest gallery there. Under ordinary circumstances, the move might have been a no-brainer. This was, after all, essentially her dream job. But then there was Bellamy, and the little complication she liked to call his_ actual _relationship._

_She was saved from having to contemplate asking Bellamy to move with her by the sound of her phone going off. Flipping it over to check who was calling, her heart dropped slightly when she saw that it was Raven._

_Although most people might say Clarke and Raven were on good terms, Raven's allegiances had always been with Echo, especially when it came to her relationship with Bellamy. It had been typical of Clarke's rotten luck, then, that Raven had been the one person to find out about Bellamy and Clarke's dalliance._

_Sighing, Clarke answered the phone._

_"Raven?"_

_"Clarke..." the girl began, her tone so frosty it could rival the snow that blanketed the city. "I think it's time you ended things with Bellamy."_

_Clarke huffed, letting out a sort of incredulous little laugh._

_"And why, exactly, would I do that?"_

_"Because I saw him out ring shopping just the other day," Raven revealed, her tone a strange mixture of gleeful with just a tiny hint of regret. "He's going to ask Echo to marry him."_

_Clarke tuned out the rest of Raven's explanation, having already heard enough. What Raven had told her had only worked to solidify what she'd suspected all along—she'd merely been a passing fancy, someone to distract Bellamy for a little while as he tried to figure out whether he wanted to be with Echo for the rest of his life or not._

_It was clear that he'd made his decision, then._

"And that's why I refused to let you in that night," Clarke revealed, clasping her hands together to stop them from shaking. She still had nightmares about that night, though they weren't nearly as frequent as they'd once been. The feeling of utter betrayal, of having her heart ripped out of her chest and tossed aside like it was nothing, haunted her to this very day.

She was almost certain she deserved it.

"Fuck," Bellamy hissed, his head clutched in his hands as he listened to her recount her experience of that night. "I'm going to kill Raven."

"For telling the truth?" Clarke asked. Just because Bellamy wasn't married to Echo now doesn't mean he hadn't proposed to her all those years ago.

"No," Bellamy spluttered indignantly, grimacing. "For not having the sense to at least confirm her theories first. I was _never_ going to ask Echo to marry me. Raven saw me that afternoon because Murphy was thinking about proposing to Emori and needed some moral support. Clarke, I..."

He trailed off with a sigh. Clarke sat there, silent, not quite sure how to process this new information.

"You didn't propose to Echo?" She asked slowly.

"Never," he shook his head vehemently. "I would have never done that to you. Clarke—Princess, I'm so sorry I let that mess go on as long as it did. I should've broken things off with Echo as soon as I realized how much you meant to me but I was..." he sighed. "I was scared of how easy things were with you. It's pathetic, I know, but I was so deeply in love with you, Clarke, and it scared the shit out of me. I knew, by Christmas, that it was high time I broke up with her, but I guess I was just a little too late. I am so, so sorry."

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Bellamy's admission had left Clarke reeling, unsure of what to do next. What he'd said to her was almost exactly what she'd wanted to hear, subconsciously, at least, ever since she'd moved away. There were parts of her that were absolutely overjoyed, but other, more realistic parts of her knew that any chance she might have had of moving on from this man had been shot right to hell.

"I'm sorry too," she finally said. "I'm sorry I didn't try to talk to you before jumping to conclusions. I'd been so in my head about us that last month that when Raven told me what she'd seen I couldn't help but believe it."

Bellamy shook his head.

"None of it was your fault," he decreed, firmly. "I've spent so long blaming you for leaving me behind without a second glance, Clarke, when I should've been blaming myself for putting you in that position in the first place."

Another moment of silence.

"You deserved better," he admitted, finally. "I just wish I'd been able to give that to you."

The tears Clarke had been holding back were spilling now, trickling down her face as she took Bellamy's face in her hands and forced him to look at her.

"But I only ever really wanted you. We can both stop pretending that what happened between us was only your fault, Bell. I loved you so much," she admitted, leaning closer to him, "there was no way you could've stopped me."

"It'll never stop being my fault, Princess," he murmured, close enough to her now to feel his warm breath on her face.

"Bell," she began, needing a little more confirmation, "why don't you do Christmas anymore?"

"Because it hasn't been the same since you left," he told her, brown eyes so deep and sincere that Clarke felt as though she was drowning in them.

That was all she needed.

She leaned farther across the armrest separating their seats, finally bringing their lips together.

The pair melted into each other, Clarke's hands sliding up into the soft silkiness of Bellamy's hair as she pulled him impossibly close to her. She'd forgotten just how much she'd missed this feeling, this absolute elation and warmth that Bellamy managed to flood her with each time he kissed her.

"Does this mean you want to try again?" Bellamy asked once they'd separated slightly.

Clarke nodded, "But we do it right, this time. No more sneaking around and miscommunicating constantly."

"Anything," Bellamy nodded. "As long as I don't lose you again."

"Never," Clarke promised, leaning forward to kiss him once more.

The two settled down into their seats some moments later, leaning into each other to rest in comfortable silence. There would be time to talk, later on, about everything they had missed in each other lives and all the complications that were yet to be resolved. But, for now, all that mattered was that they were finally together, in the right place, at the right time, the snow that fell steadily outside a gift from the fates who had decided it was finally their time.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! Be sure to leave me a comment with your thoughts! Or come find me on [ Tumblr ](https://venetum.tumblr.com/) or [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/venetumx).


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